


Charybdis

by Nebulad



Series: Achilles Reborn [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Deimos spoilers, Gen, Major plot spoilers, chapter five spoilers, minor rewrite of chapter five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: And the little girl screamed, so close to them suddenly that if Deimos had been a lesser man he would have felt a thrill of shock spike up his spine. The hit never came, though, as the cultist of Ares spun to face the girl, and his body spun as it fell to the ground, rended by Deimos’ sword. The girl stood a few feet back, and laughed in something akin to relief. “That workseverytime,” she said, still visibly trembling despite her bravado.





	Charybdis

Athens stank worse than Deimos thought it would. Hearing about the city, you’d think Greece began and ended there— and it would but because of him, not Perikles— but it was just like anywhere else. Filth ran freely in the streets, the people stank of sweat and sickness, and everyone looked at him like he was a wild bear someone loosed. Maybe it was because he was the only one not doubled over vomiting, with those vile sores seeping puss and blood.

It was also worth noting that he was the only one who wasn’t cowering in an alleyway in fear of those freak fucking Ares worshippers. Harpalos hadn’t sent these ones, but even if he had Deimos wouldn’t have avoided crossing them. They were wild, rabid fodder, like hyenas; and they stood no chance if they thought they could stop him from his goal.

… Well, goal was a strong word for some feeble, plague-stricken old man; it would hardly be a fearsome battle, but a disease-riddled city would fall as easily as its aged leader and he could move on. Demigods couldn’t catch ill like these plague rats could, but it still stank of shit and blood like a week-old battlefield.

Perikles would be praying, because that is what mortals did when overwhelmed by their miserable fates, so he gestured the two soldiers following him forward so that they would arrive before him. They stopped to fight _everything_ in the streets and he didn’t have the time to entertain their paranoia. He’d slaughter the prize pig and be done with this wretched place—

A scream cut through the air like a blade down his back.

He stopped in his tracks, scowling. It was a child by the sound of it, and this god had no mercy for the cowardly fucks that would hurt a child. Rage simmered in Deimos’ chest as he searched the source of the sound, the little girl’s cries growing more and more frantic. He could hear the sound of many footsteps, like they were shuffling around to try and trap her— those _malakas_ of Ares again. Who  had even allowed these wretches into the city?

Kleon, no doubt, but that wasn’t his headache yet. He’d hand the ragged bastard his throne with the stern goddamn warning that Ares could stay the fuck in the temple if Kleon wanted him in the city so fucking badly. The girl was smart; she was making enough noise to wake the numerous dead that lined the streets with their rotten corpses, so tracking her was no difficult task.

Deimos entered the room and threw the first pot he got his hands on at the closest cannibal so hard that it shattered alongside their weak excuse for a skull, sending both of the clay and the bone, shattered, to the ground. The others turned to look, and the little girl dove into a corner; smarter than he’d expected. If she’d tried to leave, he would have had to chase down whoever went after her. This way, she was out of sight and they could focus on their doom.

The closest one died with his comrade’s handaxe thrown into his corpse-fed gut, and the next had hardly a moment to absorb that fact before Deimos’ sword tore open her throat. He could feel the other one come up behind him and canted, to take the hit in the meat of his arm. It would hurt, but not as bad as he would make this fuck hurt for the gall of slashing a god—

And the little girl screamed, so close to them suddenly that if Deimos had been a lesser man he would have felt a thrill of shock spike up his spine. The hit never came, though, as the cultist of Ares spun to face the girl, and his body spun as it fell to the ground, rended by Deimos’ sword. The girl stood a few feet back, and laughed in something akin to relief. “That works _every_ time,” she said, still visibly trembling despite her bravado.

He grunted. He wouldn’t let a child be killed by some corpse-eating lunatic, but neither was he going to entertain it; he had a government to topple, and headed back in that direction.

“Wait! Mister!” He heard her sandals scrape against the stone as she followed him— no matter. She’d flee eventually; he’d only have to kill one or two people along the way before she got the message. “Do I know you?”

He didn’t know why, but a sudden terror gripped his gut. “No.” He sorely wished not all those who lined the streets were dead. He needed this girl to go away now.

“You look like a friend of mine.”

“No, I don’t.”

She followed him in silence for a few moments, all but running to keep up with him. “My name’s Phoibe,” she said instead of pursuing her line of questioning any farther. Good. “Thank-you for saving me— I have a friend who will give you drachmae for it!”

“I don’t need it.”

“If you tell me your name I can have her send it to you. She’s _very_ good at finding people.” He grit his teeth, only barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“You’re not as clever as you think you are. Go away.” Neither was her _friend_ as good at finding people as _she_ thought she was. His blood pounded in his ears as he stormed forward, hoping to lose her— if she was as smart as she’d been during the fight, she’d just shut up and get inside somewhere.

“Okay, but maybe you can take me back to my house? Those _creepy_ people are still hanging around.” She reached for his hand but he yanked it out of the way, glaring at her. “That didn’t work either, huh?” She folded her arms over her chest and this time he did roll his eyes. “I mean it though, you look a _lot_ like my friend—”

He kneeled down, coming eye to eye with her which seemed to alarm her. “No. I. Don’t,” he snapped. She clasped her hands behind her back, making a frankly unnerving amount of eye contact.

“You do. _Especially_ up close.” He opened his mouth, not sure what was going to come out but _certain_ that this _Phoibe_ would fuck off after hearing it; but then the exact voice he hadn’t wanted to hear rang out across the square with more terror than he’d ever inspired in anyone.

_“Phoibe!”_

She looked at Kassandra over his shoulder, then back at him. “If you just _look—”_

“I’m leaving.” He brought himself to his feet, hearing his sister vault over some rubble to reach them. She paused a few feet away, and it occurred to him that if he _really_ wanted to scare her, this kid was the way to do it. He wouldn’t; but he could.

He realised that she’d stopped in fear of that exact thing; that he was going to hurt her. “Phoibe?” Deimos stayed perfectly still, forcing Kassandra to move around him to reach the girl. Strangely enough, Phoibe didn’t move either; and then he realised that she wanted Kassandra to walk around him so she could see his face. He didn’t roll his eyes, but he fixed the little girl with a scowl. “Are you okay? I heard you screaming, then I got swarmed by those Ares freaks.”

He hated when she sounded like him. The little girl gave him another surreptitious look. “Me too— he saved me, though.” She looked at Kassandra meaningfully, disappointed when the woman didn’t jump to see his face. He _wanted_ to tell the little brat that they knew each other already so the _scheming_ was unnecessary, but Kassandra beat him to it.

“Did you thank him?”

She folds her arms over her chest again. “I said you’d pay him.”

“Do you want my money, Deimos?” She doesn’t look at him, which makes his chest hurt— with anger, because why shouldn’t she fucking _look_ at him?

“I already told her no.” Then Kassandra did look at him and he wished that she’d fucking _stop_ because it made him feel like she reached into his intestines and _pulled._

_“Thank-you—”_

“I didn’t fucking do it for you.” He stormed past her then, making sure to shove her with his shoulder on the way by. He didn’t look back, even when he heard Kassandra crouch to hug Phoibe and felt the hollow in his chest get deeper and angrier.

He had a fucking city to destroy.

. . . . .

When he kills Perikles, he makes eye contact with her; and he hates when she makes eye contact back, like she doesn’t even see the corpse in his arms. “Stay the fuck out of my way,” he spits, furious that she took that victory from him.

He leaves her with the guards that followed him, knowing that there’s no chance in hell that they manage to kill her. He hears her shout his name like she’d yelled for Phoibe and he doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Are you somehow implying that this is not exactly what happened? Because you, my friend, would be wrong. Word for word exactly what happened.
> 
> I'm [making a game](https://nebulous.itch.io/manor-hill), and [have a blog](https://nebulaad.tumblr.com).


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